Chapter 78 - - 78 - Where Darkness Flows

Chapter 78: Chapter - 78 - Where Darkness Flows

Lucien closed his eyes and activated the Lost Atlas, his consciousness expanding outward like ripples in a still pond as he scanned every dungeon in the vicinity. Nothing. Not a single trace of demonic energy, no spatial anomalies, no dimensional rifts. His eyes snapped open, confusion warring with unease.

How? How is that possible? There’s no dungeon here, but I’m certain—the description was clear. Dark mana, astral energy, a demonic dungeon... Could it be...

It failed to detect... how?

His expression darkened, the easy confidence he usually wore slipping into something more troubled. The Lost Atlas had never failed him before. If it couldn’t find the source, then whatever lurked in these waters was either extraordinarily well-hidden or... something else entirely.

Lucien turned toward Xandra, his gaze sharp and probing. "Where do the villagers draw their water from?"

Xandra’s brow furrowed with concern at his sudden intensity. "The river near the forest. We’ve always used it—for drinking, washing, everything. Why?"

"I’ll have to investigate that later. For now, take these." Lucien reached into the void, his fingers closing around several items that materialized from thin air. He pressed a crystalline vial into her hands—its contents shimmering with an ethereal, pearlescent light. "This is Heavenly Cleansing Dew. It will help the villagers purge the dark mana from their bodies and souls."

He produced two more items: a small jade box containing Astral Marrow Pills and a velvet pouch filled with Primordial Soul Seeds. "These are cultivation resources. For you."

Xandra’s eyes went wide as she stared at the treasures in her hands. "Lord Lucien, these things are far too expensive! I could never afford—"

"You don’t have to pay for anything." His voice was gentle but firm. "Take them. And try to become strong enough so that you won’t have to rely on anyone else."

He pressed the seeds into her palm, his fingers warm against hers. For a moment, their eyes met—and Xandra felt heat creep into her cheeks, a faint blush spreading across her freckled face.

From the shadows of a nearby hut, Verek watched the exchange. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. The way Xandra smiled at that outsider, the way she blushed like some love-struck maiden—it made his blood boil. He had known her for years, had been there through every hardship, had supported her when no one else would. And now this... this noble brat waltzes in and steals her affection with pretty words and expensive gifts?

Hatred burned in Verek’s chest like a smoldering coal.

After months of pain and suffering, the village finally knew peace. The disease that had plagued them—the wasting sickness that had stolen parents from children and children from parents—was gone. The villagers laughed and drank and danced around a roaring bonfire, their faces alight with a joy long forgotten.

Lucien sat near the fire, Celbeth at his side, watching the celebration with an expression of quiet contentment. He had attended countless noble parties—opulent affairs dripping with gold and silk—but there was something genuine about this village gathering. Something pure.

Xandra settled on Lucien’s other side, close enough that her shoulder almost brushed his. She fidgeted with the hem of her dress, clearly working up the courage to speak.

"Lord Lucien," she finally asked, her voice soft with curiosity, "what realm are you in to possess such power?"

Before Lucien could answer, Celbeth puffed out her chest with pride. "He’s in the Peak Spirit Forge Realm, Master. And I’m in the Late Spirit Forge Realm myself!"

Xandra’s jaw dropped. "Wha—what? At such a young age?"

"It’s not much," Lucien said modestly. "Once you focus on your cultivation, you’ll reach these heights in no time."

A shadow of disappointment crossed Xandra’s face. "Lord Lucien, you don’t need to sweet-talk me. I know I could never achieve what someone like you has."

Lucien reached over and took her hand—a gentle, reassuring touch. "I don’t have a habit of giving false expectations. The only reason I said you’ll get there in no time is because I can see your potential." His gaze held hers, warm and sincere. "As for sweet-talking—do you really think I need to sugar-coat anything to impress you?"

He continued, his thumb brushing across her knuckles: "And don’t forget—I don’t give resources to just anyone. I saw something in you, Xandra. I simply gave you the opportunity."

"R-Really?" Her voice trembled with hope.

"Really." His smile was warm, charming, utterly disarming.

Xandra felt her heart flutter. She laughed—a bright, joyful sound that carried across the bonfire.

From the edge of the celebration, Verek watched, his face twisted with jealousy. Every laugh that escaped Xandra’s lips was like a knife in his chest. Every time she looked at Lucien with those starry eyes, something inside him broke a little more.

What can I do? he thought, desperation clawing at his insides. There’s no comparison between us. I’m nothing but a mortal, and he’s... he’s a real master. A famous one at that.

I have to do something about this bastard. And how can Xandra laugh with him like that? Has she forgotten who supported her all these years? Who was there when she was alone?

Eventually, the celebration wound down. Villagers drifted off to their homes, exhaustion finally claiming them. Celbeth dragged Xandra away with teasing comments about her obvious infatuation, leaving Lucien alone by the dying embers.

He didn’t sleep.

Now is the time.

Lucien melted into the shadows, his body becoming one with the darkness as his Shadow Predator ability activated. He moved like a wraith through the sleeping village, unseen and unheard, until he reached the edge of the forest where the river flowed.

Moonlight painted the river in silver and diamond, the water glittering like scattered gemstones as it rushed over smooth stones. Lucien stood at its banks, his eyes narrowing as he studied the current.

The villagers only take water from outside the village—everything else they grow themselves. So the source of the demonic mana must be connected to the river.

He closed his eyes and activated his Origin Heart, extending his senses to feel every thread of astral energy in the vicinity. His consciousness expanded, brushing against the natural flow of the world’s mana, searching for any discordant notes...

Found it.

A faint trace—so subtle that even a master might have missed it—of corrupted energy, bleeding into the water like poison seeping through a crack.

Lucien followed the river’s course for nearly half an hour, the terrain growing steeper and more treacherous until he reached a massive waterfall that thundered down from a cliff face. The spray misted his face as he studied the roaring cascade.

Without hesitation, he dove into the waterfall, plunging through the freezing curtain of water. He descended, his body cutting through the torrent, until he noticed something unusual—a space, a gap between the falling water and the rock face.

He lunged for it, landing in a cavern that stretched deep into the mountain. The air was cold and heavy with the scent of damp stone and something else—something dark and ancient.

So that’s the demonic dungeon. It’s leaking astral mana into the water, making the villagers sick. Their mortal bodies can’t handle even a trace of demonic corruption.

Lucien advanced deeper into the cave. At the end of the passage stood a door—ordinary in appearance, unremarkable in every way. But Lucien could feel its true nature: layers of spatial manipulation, reality-bending enchantments, and something else he couldn’t quite identify.

He pushed the door open.

The world twisted around him, reality folding like paper. When the sensation stopped, Lucien found himself in a vast chamber illuminated by flickering torches that cast dancing shadows across stone walls. Bodies hung suspended in the air—dozens of them, ropes coiled around their necks like macabre decorations. Their faces were frozen in expressions of terror and despair.

A massive roundtable dominated the center of the chamber. Seated around it were figures—cultivators, judging by their aura—all of them looking toward the newcomer with expressions ranging from curiosity to hostility.

"It seems we have another one here now," said a man at the head of the table. His voice was flat, tired.

"Another one?" Lucien asked, his tone measured. "What do you mean by that?"

"We all entered this dungeon seeking opportunities," another cultivator replied, a woman with sharp features and calculating eyes. "And now we’re trapped here."

"How long have you all been stuck?"

"I’m the most recent," said a man wearing a mask that obscured half his face. "I’ve been here a week."

Lucien’s eyebrow arched. "Didn’t any of you try to leave?"

"We’ve tried everything," the masked man said. "Nothing works."

"That sounds like a loser’s mindset to me."

A ripple of anger passed through the gathered cultivators. Several of them rose from their seats, hands hovering near weapons.

"What did you say?" one of them snarled.

"If you’re so smart," another woman challenged, her voice dripping with scorn, "then what are you doing here?"

Lucien smiled—a cold, predatory expression that didn’t reach his eyes. "I’m here to win. Unlike you losers."

The chamber erupted with protests and threats. The cultivators brandished their weapons, gathering around him in a semicircle.

"You think you can scare us?" one of them shouted. "We’ve got numbers on our side! We could kill you right now!"

Lucien laughed—a genuine, mocking laugh that echoed off the stone walls. "If you thought you could kill me, you would have already done it. So let me ask you all something..." His gaze swept across the assembled cultivators, his smile sharpening. "Why are you still alive? Why haven’t you started killing each other?"

Silence fell like a shroud.

"Let me guess," Lucien continued, his voice smooth as silk, "it’s fear. You’re all terrified. Terrified of this dungeon, terrified of each other, terrified of making a move because you know—you know—that the moment you show weakness, the others will tear you apart."

"Brat," an old man hissed, his face contorted with rage, "you should show respect to your seniors!"

He lunged forward, his body blazing with astral energy as he unleashed a killing strike.

Lucien moved.

It happened so fast that most of the cultivators didn’t even see it. One moment, the old man was charging—the next, Lucien had him by the throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. The old man’s eyes bulged with shock and terror.

Snap.

The sound of breaking bone was sickeningly loud in the silence that followed. Lucien dropped the body like it was nothing more than refuse.

"Seriously?" he said, shaking his head with mock disappointment. "Fighting you makes me feel like I’m fighting mere mortals."

The remaining cultivators stumbled backward, their faces pale with shock and fear.

"Wha-what power is this?" one of them stammered.

"You bastard," another spat, though his voice trembled, "what realm are you in?"

Lucien smiled—the smile of a predator who had cornered its prey. "Are you in a position to know?"

A woman stepped forward, her posture submissive, her eyes downcast. "My lord," she said, her voice honey-sweet, "I can’t fathom your strength. Please spare me. I’ll serve you for the rest of my life—with my body, with everything I have."

"Thora?!" A young cultivator staggered forward, his face a mask of betrayal. "What are you saying?! Our marriage is next month! What the fuck are you doing?!"

Thora’s expression hardened as she turned on him. "The marriage will happen when we come out of here alive. What the fuck are you doing? He’s right—we’re all realm masters here, and the only thing that matters is strength." She looked back at Lucien, her eyes pleading. "And right now, I’m choosing strength."

Lucien’s smile widened with devilish amusement. "Lord, please spare me," she begged, her voice trembling. "I don’t care what you do to the others. Just spare me."

He reached out, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her close. His hand slid down her back, resting on her waist. He pulled her closer—possessive—while keeping his eyes locked on her fiancé’s face.

"You do look nice," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "Just stay behind me. I’ll see what to do with you."

The fiancé’s face contorted with rage. Something deep within him snapped.

His body began to warp, his skin turning a deep, mottled red as monstrous features emerged—claws, spines, a mouth that split too wide. He had transformed, his jealousy and rage consuming his humanity.

And he wasn’t alone.

Around the chamber, the other cultivators began to change as well—each of them warping into something monstrous, their forms reflecting their deepest sins and darkest emotions. Greed manifested as bloated, grasping forms. Envy twisted bodies into contorted, grasping shapes. Pride swelled into hulking, arrogant beasts.

Lucien watched it all with cold, calculating eyes.

Just as I thought.

"Now come out," he called into the chamber’s shadows, his voice ringing with command, "and show me what you’re truly made of."